


Why Do You Write Like You're Running Out of Time

by Chash



Series: Keep on Fighting in the Meantime [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Online Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-25 02:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4942372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy knows, for absolutely certain, that this person he's talking to on Okcupid cannot be real. But--they're really fun to talk to, so he's going to talk to them until he figures out their scam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Do You Write Like You're Running Out of Time

**Author's Note:**

> Adapted from [this tumblr prompt](http://swingsetindecember.tumblr.com/post/109946572482/where-one-person-is-actually-famous-and-sets-up-a), because it's beautiful.
> 
> Still taking holiday prompts over on tumblr until October 10! If you'd like me to write you something, check out [this post](http://chasholidays.tumblr.com/post/130298996786/holiday-prompts-open). Otherwise ignore this message and move on with your lives.

Okay, so Bellamy knows that not everyone his age keeps up with politics particularly well. Especially not candidate's families. So, if you're trying to catfish someone on Okcupid, Clarke Griffin isn't the _most_ obvious fake profile picture of all time. They could be using an actress or a singer or a real celebrity. But Abby Griffin is still a frontrunner in the upcoming republican primaries, and her beautiful family has been a big part of her appeal to the parts of her party who are worried about her gender and center-leaning social policies, like she's saying, yes, I'm a woman in politics, but check out my very wholesome husband who isn't threatened by my success and my lovely, Aryan, pre-med daughter. So Bellamy instantly recognizes Stormclouding's account as a scam when they pop up on his recommended matches.

The thing that bugs him is he can't figure out whom they're trying to scam. They show up as a good match with similar values, which means that instead of trying to take advantage of guys who pay no attention to the news, they're instead appealing to the exact demographic who's most likely to realize they're a fake. And they come off as really--inconsistent. On the one hand, they picked an incredibly hot blonde for their profile picture and list themself as bisexual looking for basically everything, including just casual sex, which should get a lot of messages from basic chumps. But their actual profile is detailed and thought out, clever and sarcastic, coming across as the kind of girl he'd want to get a drink with, if she was real. The person Stormclouding has created likes art and reading and shares most of his political opinions, and, seriously, why are they using _Clarke Griffin_ for their pictures? 

That's why he messages them--probably him, probably some weird dude who lives in his parents' basement and gets off on duping people into thinking they're flirting with hot girls, but, whatever. Bellamy's not fooled, he's not going to cyber or whatever, and if some guy gets off just on chatting with him, more power to him. Other people's masturbatory habits are their business. 

Anyway, yeah, he messages whoever it is because he knows they're not real, and he's kind of morbidly curious what their game is. He doesn't know much about catfishing, but it seems like they suck at it.

It's still surprisingly stressful, sending a message. What do catfishers look for? If it's too articulate, will they not respond? Does he need to use emoticons? Or is being genuine the way to go? He's honestly not sure. It's not really anything he's considered in any detail until now, but, seriously, how embarrassing would it be to get the cold shoulder from a fucking catfisher? That would be a real blow to his self-esteem.

He finally decides that honesty is the best policy, on the grounds that if the message doesn't seem genuine, they're probably just going to see through him. He's never been good at the really long messages some people send, full of personal details; he tends to just find one or two details from a profile and try to start a conversation. Not that he does a lot of Okcupid flirting, but if he sends a couple messages a month, he can tell Octavia he's trying to have a social life.

An extended flirtation with someone who turns out to be catfishing him would be great for that. Octavia would basically have to leave him alone, if he pretended to be heartbroken over the fake betrayal.

He ends up sending, _Okay, real talk: favorite Harry Potter books, in order. If you say you have a lot of opinions about Harry Potter, I am absolutely going to call your bluff. Bury me in HP minutiae._

And then he's _nervous_ about it, which is absurd. He's not, no matter what Octavia says, upset about his lack of a love life. But she's six years younger than he is, just graduated from college, and engaged, so she's convinced that because he's twenty-eight and single, he must be having some sort of crisis. Which is not true. Bellamy's never been the kind of guy who _needs_ a relationship. He got laid a lot right after O went to college, because for the first time in his adult life, he didn't have a dependent living with him, and it was novel to be able to bring girls home. But he didn't date any of them, and he didn't want to. Just because his sister is getting married freakishly young doesn't mean that's what he wants for himself.

But, still. It would be really sad, to never get a response for this one. Both in terms of self-esteem and because then he'll never figure out what dude-catfishing-people-with-Clarke-Griffin wants out of the Okcupid experience.

He's out for drinks with Miller, checking his email while Miller flirts with a cute kid in an MIT t-shirt, when Stormclouding responds. And it's a real response, with detail, and he feels oddly proud. He is successfully--is he scamming the scammer? Does this count as a scam? Regardless, he's going to count it as a win.

_Okay, you have caught me slightly tipsy and grumpy, so you better be ready for this one. Here's my Harry Potter shit:_

_1\. I'm not into the movies. Like, any of them. I know I'm supposed to get emotional about them because it's Hogwarts come to life, but I read all the books before I saw any of the movies and nothing looked like it did in my head. I'm bitter about 90% of the casting and the way they adapted most of the books did not work for me. Ask me how angry I am about the Marauders cuts in PoA._

_2\. I understand that J.K. Rowling confirmed Dumbledore was gay, but I wanted it to be textual, and I have gotten into multiple internet arguments about how just because some number of people decided he was gay for Gellert, that's not a replacement for genuine queer representation, especially given the setup with lycanthropy as an analog for AIDs and what happened with Lupin and did you know my autocorrect does not recognize lycanthropy as a word?_

_3\. I might be drunker than I thought._

_4\. You wanted books in order of how much I like them, right? Okay, number one, Prisoner of Azkaban, obviously. Two I think the first one? Do the first few books ever feel like a different series to you? The more serious the series gets (books five to seven), the less the dismissive way she deals with Harry's abuse fits in. Ditto the whimsical names. The first book feels like Roald Dahl realism, and then you get the later books and it's disconcerting. Anyway, rest of the series in order: four, two, six, seven, five._

_5\. Do you ever get disappointed that she didn't get more into how fucked up the wizarding world is? And wouldn't some number of wizards realize muggle stuff is cool GENUINELY? And figure out how to do real research? Arthur Weasley is funny and all but can't wizards figure out google? I want wizards to figure out google. Magical internet, ballpoint pens, etc. Modern tech is cool._

_6\. My friend is trying to steal my phone but I'm not letting her._

_7\. WIZARD SMART PHONES._

_8\. I like your profile picture. That's a good book that's blocking half your face. And a good half your face._

_9\. Shit she's gonna get it bye_

Bellamy has to read the message a couple times, mostly from sheer confusion. It might just be that he's kind of drunk too, but he cannot figure out what this catfisher is going for. Maybe their kink is ranting to single nerds about Harry Potter? And they did add the thing at the end about his face, which might be flirting, so--that's probably part of the scam? But it's some pretty detailed rambling. And convincingly drunk.

"Dude," says Miller. "What are you doing?"

"Project," he says.

"Are you _working_? Come on. It's Friday night! You're not even that drunk."

"Personal project." He takes a drink of his beer. "I'm trying to reverse-catfish this dude on Okcupid," he admits.

Miller blinks a few times, and then, very deliberately, turns back to the guy in the MIT t-shirt.

Bellamy grins and starts typing.

*

They start chatting regularly, moving onto His Dark Materials, Chronicles of Narnia, and the gendering of young adult literature once they're done with Harry Potter. It's--fun, which Bellamy hadn't really predicted. He thought he'd be mostly trying to figure out what their deal was, and he still wants to figure that out, but, well, he read all these books to his sister, and she never wants to have in-depth discussions with him because he is, according to Octavia, _too much of a nerd_. So it's nice, having Stormclouding to talk to. They seem cool.

A week after their first response, he gets a message with the preview, _Okay, so, I should have mentioned this earlier, but_ , and he figures it's finally the catfish, which is honestly a bit of a disappointment. Maybe they can keep talking even if he doesn't send money.

But when he opens the message, it's not _I have a terminal illness and need money for surgery_ or anything like that. It's just, _Okay, so, I should have mentioned this earlier, but last Friday, when I first messaged you? That was my last night in Boston for a couple months. I'm a teacher, so I have summers off, and my mom wanted me around, so I'm not going to be in town until the end of August. I know some people aren't interested in chatting without meeting for that long, so just FYI. Sorry for not telling you sooner. I got distracted by YA lit._

He finds himself actually _grinning_ at the text, which is ridiculous. Clearly, at the end of August he'll get some kind of message asking him for money or whatever, but he'll get to keep chatting with them until then. And that's maybe a warning sign, but--he is aware his new penpal is not a real person or valid romantic interest, and he is not going to do anything stupid. No money, no feelings. Just--they could be friends, right? For a couple months, until Stormclouding realizes he's not giving them what they want.

 _The most disappointing thing about this message is that you didn't tell me what your daemon would be_ , he writes back. _If you want to meet when you get back, that'd be cool, you can let me know when you're in town. But I'm having fun talking to you anyway. And, just to provide a good example for you, I've decided my daemon would be a wolf. Which I know sounds kind of presumptuous, but hear me out. Loyalty is pretty much the most important thing to me. I haven't got a ton of people I care about, but my sister, my best friend, a few others? I'd die for them, no questions asked. There's not a lot I wouldn't do for them, honestly. And I can be scary, but also kind of... My sister regularly sends me pictures of dogs making stupid faces that she finds on tumblr captioned IT U!! So, yeah. Wolf. Your turn._

It doesn't take long for them to respond, and he grins when they do. _I'm definitely going to start sending you dumb dog pictures now, thanks for the tip. As for my daemon, this is a tough one. I always think I should come up with some really obscure animal, you know? There are just so many in the world, so I feel stupid picking anything I've actually seen. I should be some fucked up Amazon critter or whatever, but then I feel like a daemon hipster. Like, oh, yeah, my daemon is a reticulated glass frog, you've probably never heard of it. But I had this big book of animals when I was a kid and I used to read it all the time, so I have a lot of animals to choose from. I always liked aardwolves, which I'm not saying just because you said wolf. They're the last of their subfamily, so they always felt kind of lonely to me, and I was kind of a lonely kid. And scientists thought they were solitary, but they just live in family pairs. So I guess that's kind of like you. I don't need a lot of people, but the ones I have, I don't give up on._

_So, yeah, in conclusion, my daemon is like yours, but less mainstream. Suck it. Also, it's kind of awkward going through okc for messages, so if you want to text me, here's my number. Talk to you soon :)_

Bellamy sort of stares for a while, wondering if he should really upgrade to _texting_ with the person who's catfishing him. It's probably a bad idea.

"I'm not giving you any money," he tells his phone, as he enters Stormclouding's contact information. They just sign their messages _C_ , which is--are they trying to make him think they're _actual Clarke Griffin_? That seems even stupider than regular catfishing. But, whatever. That's the name he uses for them in his contacts, and he sends _Congrats on your hipster daemon_ basically immediately, feeling a warm spike of fondness in his chest at the prospect of having their number.

He might not have thought this all the way through.

*

"Break this down for me again," says Raven. She's the closest thing he has to an ex-girlfriend, in that they slept together a couple times instead of just once and still hang out. He's not sure why he's telling her about this, except that Miller doesn't want to know and he's still trying to pretend to Octavia that he's chatting to a real person, so he can be heartbroken when they turn out to be a fake.

He is, unfortunately, kind of convinced that he'll actually be a little bit heartbroken when it happens. Friend heartbroken. He'll miss talking to them.

"I got this Okcupid match that was clearly fake," he says. "Like, obvious catfish, celebrity profile picture, tons of chump bait, but--some weirdly real and nerdy stuff too, so I was trying to figure out who their target catfishing demographic was. So I messaged them. And we started talking."

Raven nods, once, very sagely, and then smacks him in the back of the head. "So, you saw someone who designed a profile to lure in dudes like you and were like, I'm onto you, I'm going to message you? Like you were getting one over on them?"

"I know they aren't real! So they can't scam me!"

"What if they just get off on creating emotional intimacy?"

"That's fine, we can be penpals." He rubs his face. "They're fun to talk to. It doesn't have to be real."

Raven cocks her head at him. "What if it was?"

"It's not."

"Okay, not, like, _real_ , but what if everything is real but the picture? This is just some insecure girl who wants to chat with dudes she thinks are out of her league."

"I'm not thinking about that," he says firmly.

Raven considers him, and then pats his arm. "You've got it bad, huh, Blake?"

" _No_ ," he says firmly. "I don't. I'm not."

"Sure. Next round's on me."

*

He doesn't realize that Stormclouding is a friend--a genuine, actual _friend_ \--until Octavia's fiancé breaks it off. He spends hours with his sister, telling her he never liked the guy that much and, seriously, what the fuck kind of name is _Atom_ anyway, and when Octavia finally falls asleep, he goes out to her couch and texts C _My sister just got dumped._ And then he realizes he told them before Miller or Raven or any of his other friends, and that might be a warning sign.

It's the middle of the night, and he's not expecting a response until morning, but his phone buzzes almost instantly. _Shit, really? Wasn't she engaged? That's awful, I'm so sorry, is she okay?_

_I finally got her to go to bed, but she's pretty torn up. He proposed right after they graduated and she asked if it wasn't too soon, and he said it wasn't. And now he's like, never mind, it was, we're done._

_Well, I'll be back in town in a week and a half, if you need someone to help you egg his car or something. I'm always up for petty vandalism._

He stares at the phone for a long minute, doing the math in his head. He figured the end of August meant the very end, but a week and a half puts it closer to the twentieth.

He thought he had more time.

 _We don't have to meet_ , they text, before he's come up with a response. _It's cool if you decided you don't want to anymore. I know it's been a while._

 _No, that's not it_ , he says. _I just didn't know you'd be back so soon._

_Don't sound so excited :P_

He scrubs his hand over his jaw, feeling the rough scrape of stubble, and stares at the phone. He almost wants to call them, to see what they'd do. If they'd pick up, what they'd sound like, or if they'd make excuses, say it's too late.

_Why are you up, anyway?_

_You're on my approved number list. I figure you wouldn't be texting if it wasn't important, so you get to wake me up._

It's probably a lie, but--it makes his heart speed up. _Thanks._

_What are friends for?_

He stares at the message for a long time and then flops on his back on the couch, staring up at Octavia's ceiling. "Fuck."

*

He can't even complain to Octavia about it, because she's dealing with an actual breakup, not--whatever is happening to him. Catfish-based existential crisis? He was supposed to be immune to this, because he knew better, but he likes being _friends_. And he's going to be hurt if it turns out the person he was talking to was a lie. Not because he thinks they were ever a viable romantic choice, just because--he likes them. And he wants to believe that if he just told them that, they could keep on doing what they're doing. Maybe grab a beer, if they're really in Boston. But--well, who knows what they're actually getting out of this. He's no closer to figuring out what Stormclouding was trying to do with their catfishing than he was when he started talking to them.

"Have you considered that you're _not_ getting catfished?" asks Miller. 

"Of course I'm getting catfished," he says, sullen. "How could I not be getting catfished?"

"You know I have no idea who this girl is, right? When you said celebrity, I was thinking, like--I dunno. She was using Jennifer Lawrence or something. Not Senator Griffin's daughter."

"So it could be _more_ obvious. It's still pretty obvious. She's been campaigning with her mom all summer, she's everywhere."

Miller taps his jaw. "So you're saying she's spending the summer with her family. Just like she told you." Bellamy opens his mouth to argue, but Miller raises his hand. "Look, Bellamy. If your mom was a senator, and you wanted to online date, would you use your own picture?"

"I barely use my own picture now," he mutters. "You can't even see half my face."

"I'm just saying. Have you actually tried learning about Clarke Griffin? She could really be a teacher who lives in Boston. Maybe she's just trying to meet people."

"Maybe the catfisher did their research. Besides, she's going to be a doctor, I read an interview with her mom. She's in med school or something." He taps his fingers against the bar. "I know they could be--real. But I was sure they weren't, so--"

"You're a dumbass."

"Obviously." He lets his head thunk gently down onto the bar. "Fuck. They _can't_ be real. There's no way. She can't--she'd be awesome and gorgeous and it's got to be a fucking trick."

"When are they getting back?"

"Today. They texted they landed like--an hour ago."

"Set up a meeting yet?"

"Tomorrow. Raven's wingmanning slash making sure I don't get stabbed. I think she just wants to laugh at me."

"That's all Raven ever wants to do." Miller swirls his beer, looking into it contemplatively. "What's, like--it was their idea to meet, right? So what's the endgame there?"

"I dunno. I assume the heartbroken moment of realization is what catfishers live for, right? So it's--" His phone buzzes, and he drags himself off the bar to take a look at it. It's a message from C, starting with _I know things have been weird_ , and he braces for the full catfish. Whatever that means.

"Here it is," he tells Miller, and Miller leans over to read over his shoulder.

_I know things have been weird, so I won't be offended if you say no to this, but I got dragged out to have drinks for my coworker's birthday. It might be less awkward than meeting for the first time one-on-one. Kind of a test run. Like I said, up to you, it's fine if you're busy or whatever. Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow either way._

"There is absolutely no way in hell this girl is catfishing you," Miller declares. "You might be catfishing her. You made her _like you_. She's fucking excited to meet you."

"That's exactly what a catfish would want you to think," he mutters. "Want to come find out?"

The bar where C claims to be is just a few blocks away, a place he actually likes a lot, so he and Miller finish their drinks, and then get a round of shots, on the grounds that Bellamy's life is about to get a lot better or a lot worse, and he honestly has no idea which.

"I'll bet you ten bucks she's not catfishing you," Miller says.

"Deal." He might get his heart broken, but at least he'll get ten bucks.

The first person to make eye contact in the bar is this giant dude covered in tattoos, and Bellamy's pretty sure that's actual recognition in the guy's eyes, not just his paranoia talking.

"He's definitely going to murder me," he tells Miller. "Give the ten bucks to Octavia. For my funeral."

"Dude, that's racial profiling."

"I don't think he's going to murder me because he's black, I think he's going to murder me because he's been catfishing me for two months."

Miller's about to respond when C turns away from them, to someone he's with, and then Clarke Griffin is there, blonde hair loose around her shoulders, beer in her hand, dressed in a tank-top and jeans, like she's any twenty-something out for drinks with friends. She glances around until she spots Bellamy, and then she lights up, and--fuck.

"Told you," says Miller.

"Holy fuck," he says.

"She's cute."

"Holy _fuck_." He wets his lips and tries to remember how his legs work. But Clarke-- _Clarke_ \--apparently isn't having any trouble, because she's coming over, still smiling, and Bellamy's just staring, slack-jawed, like--a fish, honestly. That's what's happening. It's the worst.

"Why do _you_ look surprised?" she teases. "I told you I was here. I'm the one who thought you weren't gonna show."

"Holy shit, you're Clarke Griffin," he says, which is a more coherent sentence than he was expecting to manage, and then he wraps her up in his arms and twirls her a little. It should probably be weird, but she laughs and buries her face against his neck, giving him a good whiff of her shampoo and skin, and it just feels perfect.

"Who else would I be?"

He puts her down and tries to let go of her and stop staring, but it's really difficult. Real, actual Clarke Griffin is apparently his dream girl. Assuming he can explain the whole _I thought you were catfishing me_ thing in a coherent, non-creepy manner, he probably has a decent shot at _dating_ her.

"Long story. Do you, uh--we could get a table?"

"I don't even know your name yet," she says, but she sounds fond and amused.

"Bellamy."

"Bellamy?"

"Yeah, uh, Bellamy Blake."

She nods. "Nice. Well, it's really great to meet you, Bellamy." She glances around. "And I think there's a table in the back. Do you want a drink or something?"

"Yeah, uh, I'll get a round. What are you having?"

"Just water would be good, thanks." She smiles at him again, and he might not survive tonight if she keeps being this cute. "See you in a sec."

Her giant, tattooed friend sidles up to him by the bar, and Bellamy gives him a pretty dopey smile. He's pretty sure he's the most ridiculous-looking person in the world right now, but at least Clarke is real. That's something.

"She wasn't expecting you to show up," says the guy. "She talks about you a lot."

"Is this the _you better not hurt her_ conversation?"

The man's smile is almost pitying. "Trust me, if you hurt her, it's not _me_ you need to worry about. She's more than capable of taking care of herself." There's a pause and then he adds, "But you still shouldn't hurt her."

"I don't want to." He offers his hand. "I'm Bellamy, by the way."

"Lincoln."

"Well, uh--my friend Miller is around? The guy in the beanie. Can he hang out with you while I, uh--"

"Hit on my best friend."

"Basically."

Lincoln lets out a small snort of laughter. "Have fun."

Bellamy grabs waters and navigates back to the small booth Clarke has grabbed. She's checking her phone, hair spilling over her shoulder, and the whole thing still feels like it should be imploding on him. Someone is going to jump out and tell him he's being punked or something. 

But she smiles when he sits down across from her, genuine and happy, and he smiles back. "Hi."

"Hi," she says. "Good to see you."

"You too, yeah."

She cocks her head at him, and then laughs. "No, but seriously, what's wrong? Did you think I was gonna invite you over here and then leave before you showed up?"

He laughs. "Yeah, I wish. That would be way less embarrassing."

"Okay, well, now you _have_ to tell me."

"You're famous," he blurts out.

"I'm not _famous_."

"No, but--you're a public figure and you're gorgeous so I kind of figured someone just--stole your picture and made a fake dating profile."

She stares at him for a moment, uncomprehending. "But-- _you_ messaged _me_."

"Yeah, well, it seemed like a really stupid choice of fake pictures, with your profile. So I figured I'd talk to you, try to figure out, uh. What your scam was."

Thankfully, she looks like she's mostly amused, not offended. "And what did you come up with?"

"I figured you'd have some sort of problem getting back to Boston and beg me for money. I kind of freaked out when you just said you were coming back and just wanted to meet. I was so ready for the scam."

"I noticed," she says, wry.

He smiles, and she smiles back, reaching over to take his hand. He flips his hand over so he can return the gesture. "Yeah, so--my friend Raven decided you were probably real, but didn't look like, uh. You. Insecure or something. My friend Miller actually figured it out, he said you were you. I owe him ten bucks now. I figured this was probably just a fetish, like--win a guy over and then laugh when he finds out you're someone else. Well, uh, until I saw your friend Lincoln and he knew who I was, then I just kind of figured I was going to get murdered."

Clarke brings up her hand to cover her mouth as she laughs, and it's hard to even feel that embarrassed, when she looks so amused.

"I'm glad you think me getting murdered is funny," he teases, once her laughter has died down, and that sets her off again.

"It's just--" she manages. "You're _ridiculous_. Lincoln's, like, the sweetest guy ever."

"I thought he was catfishing me!"

"That's ridiculous too. And you couldn't figure out my game, so--"

"You were too good to be true!"

She bites her lip, smiling from under her eyelashes. "So, it worked?"

"What?"

"I won you over."

"Yeah," he says. It's not difficult at all. It feels a lot better than trying to convince himself that she hadn't, that he had definitely avoided falling for this person he was sure was not real and he told himself he would never fall for. "Completely. I was trying to figure out if you'd still talk to me after we established you were trying to rip me off, or if it stopped being fun for you once you knew I knew."

She shakes her head. "God. I was starting to think you weren't real either, though."

" _Me_? How am I not real?"

"You never even told me your name!"

"You didn't tell me yours either."

"I thought it was obvious!"

It's too stupid, and as soon as he catches her eye, he's laughing again. It's easy like he hadn't let himself think it would be, because that would have involved letting himself really believe she was real.

"In my defense, you don't scream _republican presidential forerunner's daughter_ ," he says, squeezing her fingers. "There was nothing in the press about you being bi, or even being a teacher."

"I know. It's--Mom thinks a quiet, straight-laced, _straight_ daughter who's going to be a doctor sounds better than a bisexual elementary-school art teacher. I agreed to not mention it, even though it seems ridiculous to me, but I draw the line at actually hiding who I am." She grins. "She's the best republican in the running, in terms of policy. I want her to get the nomination and then I start being really vocally bisexual and pro-choice and scare off the really bad republicans and split the conservative vote with my liberal ways and non-white boyfriend."

It's one of the most awesome statements he's ever heard anyone make, and he wants to give it the credit it deserves, but all he manages is, "You have a non-white boyfriend?"

"I'm working on it."

"Lincoln seems really great, so--" Clarke kicks him lightly under the table, and he grins and squeezes her hand again. "But, you know, if he's not an option, you could get dinner with me."

"I could, huh?"

"Any time you want."

"Well, I've got this coffee date tomorrow. But I should be free for dinner after that."

"You really want to spend that much time with me?" Bellamy asks, and then flushes at her raised eyebrows. "I could be a serial killer."

"I feel like that stupid catfishing story is way too weird to not be true," Clarke says. "And Lincoln could still murder you if he needs to."

"Fair enough. I'm definitely free for dinner tomorrow night."

"Cool. Want to come meet my friends?"

She keeps a hold of his hand as she tugs him out of their booth and back to the bar, and it's completely, almost alarmingly natural to hang out with her. It's different being in person, but he knows her sense of humor and how to talk with her, a natural cadence to their conversations that has her coworkers asking how long they've been dating.

"It's pretty new," Clarke says, glancing over her shoulder to smile at him. "But we've been friends for a few months now."

"Yeah," he agrees, and he hears two of her coworkers giggling later about how lovestruck he looks.

He can't really blame them.

*

They've been officially dating for a week when Octavia insists on meeting Clarke.

"You sure?" he asks, raising his eyebrows at her. "We're kind of--I have it on good authority I'm pathetically into her, I don't want to upset you. I know it hasn't been long since--"

Octavia huffs. "You don't have to tell me you're pathetically into her, you've been pathetically into her for two months. And, yes, it sucks that my stupid fiancé decided to dump me, but you have an _actual girlfriend_. Honestly, I thought she was gonna turn out to be fake when it took you so long to meet her. I was all ready to talk you through a broken heart."

Bellamy mostly hides the weird noise he makes with a pretty natural cough. He thinks. "Come on, O. I'd never fall for a fake girl on Okcupid. I'm very savvy."

"Uh huh. I'm still half-expecting her to be fake, honestly. Did you hire someone off craigslist just to pretend you have a girlfriend? Is that why you don't want me to meet her?"

"No, jesus, O. She's completely real. One-hundred percent an actual person and my actual girlfriend." He can't keep a stupid grin off his face at that; he's basically been on the verge of a stupid grin for the entire week. He can only fight it for so long.

"Then, yes, obviously I want to meet her. Come _on_ , Bell, seeing you happy will make me happier, stop worrying."

Clarke's already waiting for them when they get to the restaurant, sitting at one of the outside tables with a beer and a plate of nachos, looking like an advertisement for something Bellamy would bankrupt himself to buy.

"Are you _sure_ she's really your girlfriend?" Octavia stage-whispers, when Clarke turns to smile at them.

"Getting surer every day," he says, and goes over to give his actual, non-fake girlfriend a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> I signed into okcupid to check if there was a special format for their messaging for this fic and I've gotten like four emails from them and one dude asking me for sex so I hope everyone appreciates my sacrifices.


End file.
